by Korn, Tracy
"Cadet!" The loud, sharp voice just behind my head jolts me out of my skin, and as I turn abruptly from the doorway, I find myself running straight into Jax's chest and looking up at his smirking, stupid face. Our little sister, Nann, has since disembarked his shoulders—no doubt having been assimilated by the swarm of other kids running all over the complex as their parents help set up—so I find no compelling reason not to punch him in the stomach. He grips my shoulders with wide eyes and starts to laugh.
"You're hilarious, Jaxon," I say, trying to keep my voice low. "Let me go," I tug back and forth, but he's not giving in.
"That depends on if you're done swinging," he cocks a dark eyebrow and tilts his grin down at me, enjoying every idiotic minute of being almost a foot taller.
"Yes, I'm done. Come on, it's going to start." I push past him and head toward the closest table where I see some of our friends sitting.
"What's wrong with you?" he says, at my side again.
"Nothing. I was just watching the sky," I say, picking up my pace so he falls back. Why am I the only one who seems to notice that there will be no more sunsets for any of us? What's the matter with everyone?
"Hey!" Jax catches up to me again and throws his arm over my shoulder. "You know, it's going to be all right. Stop thinking of what we're leaving and start thinking about what we're going to gain. Our family has a chance now, Jazz, and everything will be new. That's exciting, isn't it?" he asks, dodging two boys who dart into our path after a ball.
I can never hide anything from him, and I know he's right. I have to shake this mood. Feeling sorry for myself is not how I want to spend my last few hours topside, so I take in a long, deep breath and let it out fast as I walk over to start setting up the tables.
***
It's nearly 5:00 when Jax puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me out of the flower arranging hypnosis I've evidently been in for a while now.
"Hey, come sit down because the sooner Paxton starts, the sooner we can eat," he says, pointing to a table where Avis, Quinn, Fraya, Arco, and Ellis Raj are sitting. "That cookie wore off a long time ago."
I shake my head and smile a little at how easy things can be for him. Even though we're twins, sometimes I can't tell if I feel a decade older, or he just seems a decade younger. Either way, I wish I had his ability to let things go.
"Avis, what was your interview like?" I hear Quinn ask as I take a seat, and feel as if someone has just clapped right in front of my face as I look over to Fraya, who stiffens next to Jax.
"Mine?" he starts, trying to contain his laughter. "I nearly died of vertigo, but before that, they made me the weatherman," he says, bouncing his black eyebrows at us from under a wing of blue-tipped black hair.
"Who made you?" Quinn asks.
"The interviewers—the man and two women," he says, leaning in on his forearms.
"Rheen...and Plume?" I ask.
"And Styx?" Fraya asks, twisting the ends of her hair. Jax's arm tightens around her. Avis's brown eyes blink quickly before he looks from me to Fraya, and then back at me.
"They were in all our rooms," Arco says. "Nobody knows how. It had to be rigged port-call, a multi projection or something. What do you mean they made you the weatherman?" he asks in a curious tone, trying to downplay the tension.
"Yeah," Avis says, nodding slowly at Arco as if he's talking himself into this explanation. He nods once more, quickly this time in decision, and continues his story. "Anyway, I had to figure out how to kill a superstorm so this sub could surface in the first situation, and in the next one, I had to minimize fallout from multiple plates shifting under the seafloor all at once. I'm not stretching; they actually had me configure the order that the volcanoes blew. All that power, man," he splays his fingers in front of him like a maestro of volcano puppets. "Pelée, trigger, POW! Pinatubo, trigger, POW! Krakatoa, trigger…oh, but I do not recommend teleporting," he adds, looking up and turning his hands out in a stop gesture.
"Teleporting?" Ellis leans in and narrows his dark brown eyes in scrutiny, but then, they're almost always like that regardless of what anyone says or does.
"Yeah, teleport from the interview room to the control site and back. They said it was virtuo, but my stomach did not concur that it was a cine."
"What a sand dollar," Ellis says, shaking his head, his course black hair not budging a centimeter. "So, why did the volcano order matter?"
Avis's expression crumples as he quickly shakes his head. "Geophysics—what are you, a first year? CO2, you know? Too much in the atmosphere all at once, and the oceans can't absorb it fast enough to reset everything?" he says, scanning our faces before continuing. "Uh, some volcanoes produce more than others…ring a bell?" We all stare at him like he's just been talking backward. "Are you serious?" he says, his eyes widening in disbelief. "How did you people get into Gaia...OK, so too much CO2 in the atmosphere—what do we breathe, class?" He folds his hands in front of him, flips his hair again, and blinks at the table.
"So, we suffocate," Jax states more than asks.
"Sure, unless we all drown first," Avis says as we all exchange silent glances. "Oh, I quit the human race. Volcanic Tsunamis, anyone?" He closes his eyes and shakes his head quickly from side to side again, then gets up and makes his way to the bathroom, mumbling something in Chinese.
"Did he just call us squid piles?" Arco laughs, triggering the rest of us.
"Brains. He called us squid brains," Quinn corrects. "Which is ironic considering squids are very intelligent creatures." There is silence for a beat as we all look at her. "What? They are," she adds, and we all laugh again.
"What about your interview, Quinn?" Ellis asks.
"The same interviewers were in my room, but the interview itself was a simple matter of evaluating supply and demand," she replies, sitting up straight in her chair.
"So, you had an economics test?" Ellis asks, raising an eyebrow and smirking, unimpressed.
"Something like that. Settlement 'A' produces medi-droids, Settlement 'B' requires medi-droids, decipher a fair exchange for said medi-droids if the established currency has been found worthless. Scenarios like these." Quinn brushes a strand of her short blonde hair from her nearly invisible eyebrow.
"What did you do?" I ask.
"A new currency had to be established. I simply evaluated what Settlement 'A' could want from Settlement 'B,' and then a trade could be facilitated."
"So, what did they want?" Jax asks a little too rigidly, his voice holding the impatience we all feel when she starts talking like a text-file.
"Entertainment," she says with a shrug as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Oha Krishna," Ellis says, putting his face in his hands, then peeling up through them, leaving his fingers to cover his mouth. We all start laughing at his exasperation, and almost can't get ourselves together before Mr. Paxton, our head councilman, starts testing the microphone at the front of the room. His balding head is shiny even after he wipes it with a napkin, and there is a damp circle marring the center of his white linen tunic.
"Good evening, Seaboard North residents, and of course, Gaia cadets!" he says, and people begin to applaud. He takes a shaky sip from a glass at his podium and then continues. "What a beautiful evening we have here in the company of our friends and family. This is a bittersweet time indeed, but we come together each year like this to show our support for all our graduates, and for the ones who have helped them achieve their goals." The crowd applauds again, and I spot Liddick, who is seated in the third row back from Mr. Paxton facing me from the opposite wall. He meets my eyes in almost the same moment as Paxton continues. "As you all know, it has been four years since we last had cadets heading to Gaia, and this year, astoundingly, we have 12, the largest number we have ever had!" Mr. Paxton raises both of his meaty hands out to his sides, the sweat stains under his arms matching the one on his chest. The room roars with the cheers of everyone as the ten of us look around at each other to figure out who the other two
from Seaboard North are.
"Who are the Tinkerers and Fishers at school?" I whisper to Jax, suddenly curious. He draws in his eyebrows to think, but then just shrugs.
"I don't remember their names," he says.
"Cadets, know that it's natural to worry for those who will not be traveling with you to Gaia, but also that your families will be wrapped in the warmth of our community. This is your time to pursue your dreams, to meet world leaders, to even become world leaders yourselves, but whether you join the field of medical research like Arwyn Hart and Liam Wright, or become part of the State's technical transport division like Lyden Wright, you will always be here in our hearts." The crowd applauds again, and I look over at Arco to see if the mention of his sister has had any effect on him. Fortunately, it doesn't look like it has. I look over again to check the same for Liddick, and find that his parents are beaming, but he's not there anymore. "Let's recognize these fine young people at this time. Cadets, please come forward when I call your name."
Mr. Paxton calls the ten of us in order of our rank, Liddick rushing in from outside after his name is called twice. We make our way to the podium and arrange ourselves in a single line that faces the seated crowd, the small children sitting cross-legged at the feet of the adults in the front rows. When Mr. Paxton calls Arco's name, I hold my breath for the 11th.
"For first dibs in line— Mainstream, Fisher or Tinkerer?" Jax bets me.
"Mainstream," I say, remembering that there are only five or six Tinkerers in our class this year and only two Fishers.
"Joss Tether!" Mr. Paxton says, and quiet gasps wash over the crowd. Jax nudges me, a wide smile spreading over his face in anticipation of being that much closer to eating.
"A Fisher?" I hear several people say in hushed voices, and admittedly, think it myself. The Fisher and Tinkerer clans are technically part of Seaboard North, but the Fishers live off the shore by the docks east of us, and the Tinkerers live on the inland side of us, just beyond the hydrogen plant in the old factories and stacks in the southwestern quadrant nearby. Past that is a forest that wraps farther westward toward The Badlands, which encompasses the city ruins and the expanse of sand beyond, but only The Fringe—societal deserters and cast-outs—live there. Skyboard mountain is in the far Northern quadrant, but they have their own school, and no one except Liddick and Ellis ever really see anyone from there.
Joss stands up at the back of the room, and a broad, muscular man with long, platted, white hair grips his shoulders hard and smiles. This has to be his father. Joss hugs a tall, thin woman with a long dark braid, and after he pulls away to kiss the head of a small, dark headed girl, the woman with the braid wipes her eyes and puts her arm around her. This must be his mother and sister. Like his father, Joss looks like he's built out of boxes as he walks to the front of the room to stand with the rest of us, but the closer he gets, the rounder his arms and shoulders appear. He walks strangely, gliding more than stepping, and the flap of his sandals against the floor draws my eyes down. His legs are corded in tanned muscle with one of them dotted in shiny, evenly spaced dark scars over his upper shin and inner thigh, his nails white as the sand, and I notice the same is true of his fingernails. His forearms also have raised veins running up and disappearing into the crooks of his elbows, then starting again over his biceps. His orange tunic is belted in a knot around his hips while his rolled up linen pants skim just above his knees. He looks up at all of us and smiles one of the whitest smiles I've ever seen, especially for a Fisher, then takes his place next to Arco.
"And our 12th selectee from Seaboard North…Vox Dyer!" Mr. Paxton says enthusiastically, but there are no gasps, no explosions of applause, just quiet, obligatory clapping.
"Fringe," Jax says under his breath to me, and it just won't register. I look out over the tables for Vox and for any other Badlanders who might be here with her, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end when she gets close enough for me to see her eyes, which are so light green they're almost yellow, peering out from underneath dark burgundy hair. The charcoal tribal tattoos on her face and neck begin at the center point at her hairline with two inverted "Vs" over a hollow diamond between her eyes, the bridge of her nose marked in deep arrows stacked inside each other. The etchings reappear in a long, narrow arrow under her bottom lip that runs over her chin, then branches into a column of arrows that travel downward along the length of her pale throat, coming to a diamond shaped maze at the divot in her collarbone just before ending in a another, larger maze in the center of her chest. Her hair is braided into rows on the left and falls loose over her right shoulder as she makes her way to her place next to Joss, surrounded by the sound of tiny chiming bells and the chink of small chains rustling with each of her steps.
Her tan canvas skirt is frayed and uneven on the edge, but it's short enough that it shows her knees, which are scarred and freshly scratched, giving way to shins that are tattooed in the same arrow column pattern as her throat. Black sandal straps wrap her feet, and around each of her ankles, several bracelets are the source of the sound surrounding her. Her black tank top is torn in places and patched with the same canvas as her skirt, and I can't stop staring at the rivers of lines that mark her arms, which look like roads scrambling all over a map. She catches me gawking, and as she takes her place next to Joss, she locks those yellow eyes with mine and does not look away.
Heat rushes up my neck and over my cheeks, and I feel a wash of anger that I do not understand. I've never spoken to her before, and have really only ever seen her from afar a few times at school, but I immediately can't stand her. She reminds me of a snake tasting the air with its tongue in the way she moves, and in the second the thought enters my mind, I imagine her flitting hers at me. The shock of this snaps me out of whatever feelings of anger have just come over me, and I quickly look back out into the crowd.
"May I present your Gaia cadets! Let's give them a round of applause along with all of our graduates this year, and then follow them to the tables to enjoy this wonderful feast!" Mr. Paxton says a little too quickly to the gathered crowd, who all begin to cheer one last time.
CHAPTER 9
The Message
The last rays of sunlight glint off the serving spoons and blown glass bowls through the tall, mottled windows. It distorts and bends in bows, throwing flecks of color onto the floor and onto the white, concrete walls. Every family has brought something to share, and every table along the banquet wall is filled with salads, stews, oysters, fruits, lobsters, and someone has even brought a marlin. It must be six feet long and two feet wide, and I gasp at the sight of it laid out in the center of the main table. I've never seen one this big before, or this beautiful. The blues and greens of its skin catch the light and shimmer in the filtered, setting sun, and I'm drawn into its eye, which is as large as the palm of my hand even from several feet away. The black pupil seems fluid in the bluish gray, watery iris as I approach, and I'm suddenly angry to think how stupid it was that this fish never realized the bait was a trap...how stupid that something has survived the dangers of the ocean all the years of its life and never even saw the hook or the net coming. I feel heat rising in my cheeks, and notice that I'm actually angry at this dead fish, then roll my eyes as I realize that feeling like this is really the only stupid thing going on here.
"Beautiful," Liddick says over my shoulder, and I must still look angry because he flinches when I jerk around to face him.
"Stow it, Liddick," I say, then look back toward the food choices.
"I mean, I don't know about you, but I've only seen a blue spectrum like that on a fish in the rift—gorgeous, right? The horn isn't quite as long as the ones out there, but otherwise, quite a specimen," he says, nodding, then winking as I give him a sideways smirk and shake my head at him.
"Wait, wait…was that the virtuo-cine where you got the whole crew eaten by that Kraken squid? Or was it the one where you wound up sinking the boat and drowning everyone?"Arco says from the other side of Liddick
as he reaches his long arms in front of him to fork some rainbow prawns onto his plate. I smile and take a few steps down the table—the pear slices and lobster suddenly appearing far more interesting than the rest of that conversation—and catch up to Jax to see what he thinks about Vox Dyer coming with us to Gaia. His plate is already three layers high with one of everything on the table, and I'm stunned that he's even been able to balance it all.
"You know you can come back up, right?" I say, marveling.
"Plan to!" he says around a mouthful of food, and I shake my head at him as I realize the Vox conversation clearly won't be happening until he doesn't have to choose between eating and talking. At that, I look around the room for her, but she's nowhere to be found.
As we make our way down the table, I notice that the marlin is even more beautiful close up with its smooth, iridescent lines from the tip of its spear to the end of its tail. Jax plunges the edge of a serving spatula into the pink flesh of its belly and carves a slice that's rimmed in the shimmering midnight blue and silver spectrum of its skin, and with a surgeon drone's precision, deposits it on top of the pile of food already on his plate. I pick up the spatula after Jax moves on, and the eye of the fish catches mine again.
I blink a few times to be sure, but the pupil slowly starts changing shape—the circle becomes an oval, then the oval becomes a circle again. I squeeze my eyes shut and then blink several more times to clear my vision. I must be more exhausted than I thought, I think, and the black disk of the pupil returns, still and locked in the frozen blue-gray layers of the marlin's eye. I shake my head, then pierce the meat with the tip of the spatula just as the gape of the marlin's mouth wrenches down at the corner. Its gills flare out in a long gasp, then start to quickly flap open and closed over and over again. I drop the spatula, and my heart begins to hammer in my chest as I try to say something, but realize in horror that only small crackles of sound actually come out of my mouth. The pupil begins undulating again as it darts left, then right, then down, up, and then directly at me.
